


do not go gentle into that good night

by caughtinkhanded



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caughtinkhanded/pseuds/caughtinkhanded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not go gentle into that good night,<br/>Old age should burn and rave at close of day;<br/>Rage, rage against the dying of the night.</p>
<p>Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,<br/>And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,<br/>Do not go gentle into that good night.</p>
<p>(or: Lexa's life has never been easy; those she loved and lost and the one she loved and still lost)</p>
            </blockquote>





	do not go gentle into that good night

**Author's Note:**

> Lexa's POV - 2nd Person

i. 

You refused to let tears fall from your cheek as your nontu turned his back on you to join the war party. You refused to cry as you lay curled up on your furs at night. You refused to cry when your sister, still a baby, asked tearfully where he was. 

But then the chief had returned. And so did some of the men, but your nontu’s familiar shape was not among them. You watched apprehensively from a tree as the battle-weary men trickled back through the trees and into the village. Their families spilled out of their homes, all searching for their loved ones. But your nomon stood in the doorway, tears beginning to track their way through her sharp cheekbones and the gentle curve of her cheeks. 

You watched, your heart aching, as the chief bowed his head to your nomon, words falling from his lips. She nodded towards you, still hidden in the trees. The chief grasped her arm in a sign of strength before walking towards you. 

You wanted to sink into the tree. You didn’t want to feel the pain. How simple your life could be. That was all you wanted. 

“Alexandria,” you never went by Alexandria. “I have news of your nontu.” He slowly moved towards you, hands extended outward as if you might attack him. “Em gonplei ste oden.” Your heart felt as if it were cracking and shattering. Every night you had repeated to yourself: “Em gonplei non ste oden.” But you knew that was foolish. 

All you could manage was a sharp nod, willing the tears in your eyes not to escape. He smiled at you again, a sad, pitying thing that made your skin crawl uncomfortably. 

“Here. These are yours now.” In his hands, he held your nontu’s sword, his most prized knife and his braid. “Yu ste yuj, Lexa.” 

“Mochof,” You whispered, looking down at the things clutched in your hands with wonder. 

And then the chief is gone. And you are left. A lanky child clutching at what’s left of her nontu. And then you cry. 

ii. 

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping again as the overly heavy sword threatens to unbalance you. 

“Again,” Anya barks. 

You nod sharply, shifting your feet into the fighting stance your father had taught you all those years ago. The warrior in front of you grins down at you. You know what he’s thinking: you are just a skinny, little girl; you are not a warrior; you are not Heda. 

Your opponent swings his sword down at you again and you scramble out of the way, narrowly avoiding the arc of his blade. He lets out a low chuckle and you feel the rage burning in your cheeks and in your chest. You throw your own sword up to deflect his and the impact jars its way down your thin arms. 

You grit your teeth in frustration as Anya calls out taunts. 

You duck out of the way, your hair spinning behind you. In your movement, you trip backwards, landing hard on your back. Your opponent, as he nears you notice that he’s barely even a man, advances on you, a smile on his lips. As you try to scramble backwards, the familiar weight of your nontu’s knife presses against the small of your back. 

You release the heavy training sword, ignoring Anya’s voice. Then you shoot forward, sliding under the warrior’s legs, and then scrambling up his broad back to press your knife against his throat, your other hand clutching his hair tightly. 

Anya lets out a low, barking laugh. “Very good, Lexa.” You want to beam with pride, but school your features into a serious expression, dropping off the warrior’s back. “You used your size against Keygan.” Anya spared a glance at the sun slowly making its descent. “That will be all today. You fought well. Perhaps there is hope for you yet, young Heda.” Anya turned away from you, forcing you to jog to keep up with her. 

You slide your nontu’s knife back into the sheath resting at the small of your back. 

“Come along, Lexa. I would hate for you to get lost,” Anya chuckled again and you felt your cheeks beginning to flare up again as you remembered your first week in Polis when Anya would randomly disappear, forcing you to find your way around the unfamiliar area. “Your nomon is on her way.” 

“When will she arrive?” 

“One week from today. She will arrive on the day of the painting.” You nod, nearly tripping again in your efforts to keep pace with Anya. “Tomorrow,” Anya begins in English, “We will work on your English.” 

“Do we ha-“

“In English, Lexa.” 

 

“Do we, uh, um, have…” you glance away, desperately trying to think of the word, “to?” 

“Yes, as Heda, you must speak well. Once your speaking has improved, then we will work on your reading.” 

“Reading?” You ask, tasting the new word cautiously. 

“Yes, there are many stories from the Old World.” 

“But why must I learn?” You ask in hurried Trigedasleng. 

“Because I said so, seken.” Anya pushes your shoulder lightly as you enter the commander’s complex. You quickly steady yourself, trailing after her, questions still falling from your lips. 

O-o-O-o-O

You watch from the top of the Commander’s home (it still does not feel like your home) as the citizens of Polis bustle around to prepare for the upcoming celebration. You watch with slight envy as a group of children, not much older than you, play at war in the street. 

You have heard whispers. Whispers that a girl of only twelve summers could not lead the people. Not when they were at war. They did not believe in you. You were not even sure if you believed in you. 

You grip the edge of the window until your fingers turn white. 

You will show them. You will be strong. You will be Heda. 

And tomorrow is only the beginning. You will receive your nontu’s war paint, as is tradition. Your nomon will paint it and she will give you to your people. And you will be strong. 

“Alexandria,” Anya’s soft voice cuts through the quiet of the night. You whirl around. Why would she use your full name? “I come bearing bad news,” Your heart sinks. 

“What is it?” You ask, surprised by the strength in your own voice. 

“A messenger has just arrived. He comes from the party escorting your nomon,” your heart drops even lower, “On the journey, she became ill. The healer tried to help her, but she became too ill too fast. She passed away this morning.” Anya rushed forward to catch you as you crumple. You bite your lip hard to stop the traitorous tears from escaping. Anya whispers soft words in your ear as she holds you. But she is not your nomon. You want your nomon. You didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. 

The last memory you have of your nomon is nearly a year old. The sight of her sad face as you were led away by Anya floats in front of your eyes. A scream is wrenched from your throat. 

“I didn’t say goodbye.” Anya did not respond. You feel strangely small. “She was only travelling because of me.” Again, Anya remained silent. “It’s my fault. How can I be Heda if I can’t even help my own nomon? I do not deserve my father’s paint.” 

“Lexa,” Anya cut across your thoughts, “you are Heda. The Heda spirit is within you. It was time for her fight to end.” 

“Tomorrow…” you began until the pain in your chest grew to be too much. 

“You will receive your father’s paint tomorrow. You will be strong. Because you are Heda. Heda is you, Lexa. You will find your strength.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Sleep never found you that night. You lay awake, examining the ceiling of a room that did not feel as if it belonged to you. 

When Anya entered your room, you simply rolled over to face her, your eyes aching from the lack of sleep and tears. A servant followed after her, the Commander’s amour in his arms. After he set it down, Anya quickly dismissed him. 

“Come now, Lexa. You must dress.” 

“Yes, Anya,” you had replied, your voice wavering. 

Then she had hauled you out of your bed, giving your hair a yank. You mindlessly donned the uniform, noticing with alarm how much larger the traditional Commander’s shoulder guard was than your small frame. Anya worked her way through all of the pieces, knotting and tightening as she went. 

You couldn’t help but stare at your reflection in the mirror. You almost did not recognize yourself. You looked older, stronger, almost like you could be Heda. 

“Sit, Lexa. Your hair must be braided.” You did as she said without argument. Her nimble fingers darted through your wild hair as she spoke. “Do you remember your words?” 

“Yes, Anya. I practiced last night. Who will paint me?” 

“I will. You are my seken, Lexa. I will watch over you.” 

The pair of you sat in silence as Anya tied off the last of your braids. Anya then handed you your nontu’s knife and the sword that had been forged in your honor. It was still too large for you, but you would carry it anyway. 

You stare up at Anya, your heart still throbbing. 

“Come now, Lexa. It is time.” 

As she leads you to the horses and then to the center of Polis, your mind is unfocused. You think of your sister, still so young. You think of your nomon, dead without even a goodbye. You think of your nontu, the brave warrior. 

“Lexa,” Anya hisses. You break from your thoughts, realizing you have entered the ground where the ceremony will be held. All of Polis appears to have come to witness the painting of their new Heda. 

You quickly dismount, glad that for once the distance between your saddle and the ground was not too much. Anya guides you to the middle of the circle where the generals of the Trikru, no, your generals stand in a line, backs stiff and faces imposing. 

Anya accepts the paint from one, Indra, your mind supplies. She nods to you and you kneel in front of the weapon of your predecessor, an imposing spear. You try to listen to the words Anya says, but your mind can’t help but wander to thoughts of your nomon, who should be speaking them. 

And then Anya is in front of you. You lift your chin to look at her. Your eyes are suddenly watery again. You will not cry; the Heda does not cry. You close your eyes as Anya brings the brush to your cheek. 

The cool of the paint contrasts the heat you feel rising in your cheeks as all eyes turn to focus on you.

You miss your nomon’s touch. The feel of her soft fingers. The sound of her gentle voice. The warmth of her body. A lone tear slides down the slope of your cheek. Dread wells up inside of you. 

Then Anya’s calloused fingers wipe it away as she paints across your face. 

“I present your Heda.” Anya calls out as she moves away from you. You open your eyes, the feel of the paint unusual against your skin. 

There are chants of, “Heda, Heda, Heda.” around the square. 

You stare around at the people, your people. You rise to your feet, barely trusting your legs. 

You lock eyes with Anya, who nods minutely. “I, Alexandria, swear to protect my people with everything available to you. I swear to give my life to save you. I will honor the memory of the Heda spirit. I will not fail my people.” 

A moment of silence echoes around, then the crowd breaks into a chant of, “Lexa, Lexa, Lexa.” And you feel your heart swell. 

iii.

You slouch in your throne, listening to yet another useless report. None of your scouts have been able to gain any information on the damned Ice Queen. Or Costia. 

Just the thought of her name makes your chest ache. Your fingers curl around the arm of your throne. You will not show weakness.

You nod to the scout, dismissing him. “Mochof, Heda.” 

You turn to Anya, who lingers at your right side, Gustus on your other side. “Has there been word from the Crekru?” 

“None yet, Heda,” Gustus replies. “But I believe that Karter will wish to join your coalition. He has no quarrel with any of the others.” 

You nod. That seems to be all you can do as of late. Words catch in your throat and you have not slept in days. Not since Costia disappear. 

It was your fault. You had argued. She had stormed away. 

“Heda,” a warrior burst into the room. Anya began to reprimand him, but you raised a hand, “an envoy from the Azgeda.” 

You are on your feet in an instant, the other two on your heels. You storm out of the room, anger surging through your veins. 

The Azgeda messengers stand in a cluster of five, dressed in the traditional furs of their people. 

“Azgeda, what do you come to Polis for?” You bark, your hand on your sword. 

“We come with a message from our kwin.” The leader declares, then motions to a warrior behind him. The warrior hands a crudely made box to you. 

You open the box, dreading what’s inside. Costia’s empty eyes stare up at you, none of her usual joy filling them. Rage tears at your heart and your fingers curl around the box. Anya steps forward, a growl escaping her throat as she takes in the contents of the box. 

“You will pay, Ice Men.” 

“Our kwin would also like to negotiate for peace. She hears you are uniting the clans.” Anya’s sword is out and at the man’s throat in an instant. 

Your heart calls out for his head. But your head wins and you hear your voice distantly say, “Hod op, Anya.” 

She glances back at you, doubt filling her eyes, but lowers her sword. 

“Thank you, Heda.” 

“You will camp outside of the walls of Polis. I will send for you when I have made my decision.” Your voice is strong while your legs are shaky. You turn sharply on your heel and return to your throne room, the box still secure in your arms. 

“Lexa!” Anya barks after you, “What are you doing? This was an act of war.” 

“No, they want it to be an act of war. Our people are tired, Anya. They have been fighting this war for too long. If we declare another war on the Azgeda, we will lose. And the Mountain will still stand and my people will still suffer. I do not like it any more than you, but without the Azgeda, the Coalition will fail.” You falter, staring down at Costia’s head in the box, “She would’ve wanted peace.” 

iv. 

You stand over your hastily assembled war table. You do not know what to think. People falling from the sky? The world only became stranger and stranger everyday you walked this earth. There had been stories of people who had fled the Great War in the stars, but you had thought them to simply be the tales of the elders. 

And yet, people had fallen from the sky. As soon as reports came from the forest of the people there, you had ridden to Tondc to give counsel. Indra and your other generals wanted to execute all the invaders. You had stayed their hand. 

“Heda,” you waved the woman in, “there has been an attack from the Sky People. Anya’s village. An attack from the sky, missiles.” You clench your hands into tight fists as the woman continues, “The village burned.” 

“How many are dead?” You ask sharply. 

“Unknown. I saw the fire come down from the sky and rode straight here.” 

“Thank you for your service. Indra will ensure you are fed.” Your eyes fall back onto your war table. Missiles were a weapon of the Mountain Men; could these invaders be allied with the Mountain? And Anya, she had been in her village to gather her warriors in case of war. 

You had sent her there. Another death on your hands. 

You throw yourself into the planning of an attack. Love is weakness. Anya would want you to remember that. Her death would not break you. It would simply strengthen your attack against the people who invaded from the sky. You would make them pay. 

“Lexa, stop cutting your table to shreds.” You spin around. 

“Anya, but your village.” 

“My warriors and I had already left. We watched as our people burned. I want blood. Jus drein jus daun.” 

Indra has reappeared, a solemn look on her face, “The Sky People have sent a raiding party into the forest. I’ve sent a group of my best warriors out to turn them back. Or kill them.” 

“Very well. What do we know of their positions and arms?” 

O-o-O-o-O

“Heda, the Sky People have sent a message asking for a meeting. They wish to discuss peace,” Anya lets out a little chuckle. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, “They ask for peace? Very well, Anya, you will meet with the Sky Invaders. They have invaded our land, burned one of our villages, tortured one of our people and now they ask for peace.” 

Anya bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Heda. I will take my best warriors with me.” 

You return to burying yourself in battle plans. Once the problem of the Sky Invaders is dealt with, your focus must return to the Mountain. Your coalition rests on the destruction of the Mountain and the Coalition leaders have begun to become agitated. You will not allow your coalition to fail. It must not fail. You will fight for peace, whatever the cost. 

At the sound of commotion outside, you leave your tent, your hand resting on your sword, ready to fight as always. Anya and her warriors dismount in a smooth motion, Anya already walking towards you. Your eyes drop down to the blood staining her sleeve, but you school your face as she approaches. 

“The Sky People do not want for peace. They fired upon us with Mountain weapons. And Lincoln,” she spat the name out, “has sided with them. Indra will want his head.” Anya made brief eye contact with the other general, who nodded stiffly, her hand moving down to her sword. “The Sky leader did say that more people will be coming from the sky. More warriors. We must be ready, Lexa. They carry guns.” 

“Send the prisoner back to them. Prepare for war. Jus drein jus daun.” You declare, holding your eyes on your mentor, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

Both Anya and Indra begin to bark out orders to their people. The prisoner you captured emerges, beaten and bloody. “Give him the virus.” Indra gestures to one of her healers who rushes forward. You watch impassively as the poison is forced down the boy’s throat. “Coltraine, you will take this scum back to his camp. You,” Indra moved closer to the boy, “will not remember any of this.” She brought the hilt of her sword down on his head and he crumpled instantly. 

You returned your focus to Anya, “Next time I see you, I want to see Sky blood on you, not your own blood.” The corners of Anya’s mouth tugged upward and you knew that was all you would get out of your mentor. 

O-o-O-o-O

Another plume of smoke forced its way up and the ground shook beneath your feet. These Sky People were becoming more and more dangerous. It’d appear that your poison did not weaken them enough. 

You are tired of watching your people return with burns and bullet wounds. You are tired of watching your people die at the hands of the Sky People. 

“Tristan,” you bark. The man in question joins your side, “stand at the ready. If Anya does not succeed, you will take your Rangers and finish this.” 

You know Anya will be angry. But you cannot play favorites among your generals. You must eliminate the threat. Memories of Anya many years ago float to the surface of your mind, but you push away the thoughts. 

War is not the place for sentimentality. 

O-o-O-o-O

You want to gag as the ashes of your people fill your lungs. Many skeletons lay scattered about the Sky People’s camp. You desperately want to search for Anya. But you won’t. She wouldn’t have allowed you to and you will not dishonor her memory by forgetting all that she taught you. 

Those who survived the blast were now covered in burns. There were no bodies to burn as was your tradition. There were no braids to cut off. Your heart ached for your people, for your warriors, for Anya. 

Jus drein jus daun. If any of the Sky People remained, they would die. 

O-o-O-o-O

You sit on your throne, contemplating the girl in front of you. “You’re the one who burned 300 of my warriors alive.” You are the cause for all this war, you want to say. 

“You’re the one who sent them to kill us.” You fight back a grin. It has been a long time since anybody dared speak to you that way. 

With that, you listened to this Klark as she described what the Mountain was doing to your people. You had long suspected something terrible happened there, but you had never thought it was so horrific. How interesting that they called you savages, but they were the ones draining your people of their blood. 

“I did. With Anya. We fought our way out together.” 

You want to tear this girl’s throat out, “Another lie. Anya died in the fire. You killed her.” 

“She told me you were her second. I’m sure she’d want you to have this.” Klark handed you a braid. As you glanced down at it, you knew it was Anya’s. How many times had you braided her hair as she had then braided hers. It would join your nontu’s and Costia’s braids in your small pouch. 

“Anya was my mentor, before I was called to lead my people.” You pause, your pulse speeding up, “Did she die well?” 

“Yes,” you nearly let out a sigh of relief, “By my side, trying to get a message to you.” 

Your fingers clench around Anya’s braid at her words, but war is not the time for sentimentality. You must do what’s best for your people and if that’s allying yourself with the Sky People, then so be it. 

If Anya had trusted this Sky Girl enough to die next to her, then you would try your best. If they were the key to taking down the cowards in the Mountain, then you would create an alliance and make the Mountain pay for what they have done to your people. 

O-o-O-o-O

As you and your people made your way to Tondc, the body of the murderer in tow, your thoughts drifted to Anya. Her body had not been recovered, not that there had been time for it. Anya, who had stood by you at your nomon’s pyre. Anya, who had buried Costia’s head with you. Anya, who had been with you since the beginning. 

When you made camp for the night, you slipped away into the shadows of the forest. 

Gathering enough dead wood for a small pyre, you crouch next to it and hit your knife against a stone until a spark caught. 

The wood quickly went up in flames and the warmth was oddly comforting. “Anya, yu gonplei ste oden.” 

When you return to camp, leaves hanging off your clothes and the scent of the smoke lingering on you, Gustus says nothing. 

v. 

“Ste yuj,” the words gurgle from Gustus’ bloody lips. 

Your sword feels heavy in your hand as you lift it. Gustus’ eyes stay on you. “Yu gonplei ste oden.” You push your blade into his chest, banishing any memories of the man who had long been your protector. You want to wince at the sound but you won’t because you must be strong for your people. 

+1

You are haunted. You are haunted by all the lives you’ve taken and all the lives you lost. Anya had said, “The dead are gone, the living are hungry.” But you couldn’t help but think that the dead had the better end of the deal. The dead didn’t have to carry the weight of their mistakes. The dead were free. 

You are not free. Not from your mistakes at least. Every night is a fight against your thoughts for sleep. Some nights the old nightmare of Costia reaching out for you as the words, “Why didn’t you save me?” fall from her lips. Others the ghosts of your warriors chase you across the dreamscape. And others are filled with what begin as happy memories with Anya, or your nontu, or your nomon, or Gustus, until they are consumed by flames. 

And even more still are filled with visions of Klark kom Skaikru. The taste of her lips still lingers in your dreams. But then she would shove a blade between your ribs, not unlike what she had done to Fin. 

She stared at you with so much hatred and anger you felt as if her gaze alone would burn your heart to ash. Just as she had done to 300 of your warriors, just as she had done to the Mountain Men. 

Whenever Klark appeared in your dreams, you so desperately wanted to reach out for her, to apologize, to do something. But you never could. 

“Heda, there is a Skaikru here to see you. She demands that she see you immediately. She won’t remove her-“ You glance up as the person who haunts you pushes into your tent. “Heda, she won’t remove her weapons!” The guard moves to restrain Klark, but you hold up a hand wearily and he halts. 

“Leave us,” you say, your emotions absent from your voice, while you stare at Klark apprehensively. She is still partially dressed in the clothes you had last seen her in six months ago. Her gun rests at her hip and her fingers look like they ache to hold it. “Hello, Klark kom Skaikru.” 

“Hello?” Klark barks out, a harsh laugh filling your tent, “That’s all you have to say. That’s it?” 

You can hear the rustling of your guards outside. 

“Not here, Klark. Walk with me?” 

Klark pins you with a suspicious glare but agrees anyway. You wave off your guards as the pair of you leave your tent. One begins to ask for Klark’s weapon, but you cut him off sharply. 

You eventually reach a clearing filled with flowers. You absently think that your nomon would’ve loved them. 

You turn to look at Klark and are unsurprised to find your self staring down the barrel of her gun. 

“I hate you.” 

“I figured.” 

“You left me.” 

“I know.” 

“I killed them all.” 

“I know.” 

Part of you wants to pull your knife out; that part would be your head. But you owe it to Klark to listen to your heart just for this moment. 

“I hate you so much, Lexa.” She growls and your beaten and bloody heart lets out a whimper. “You are the reason that the Mountain Men are dead. Their deaths are your fault. But they still haunt me. I see them every night.” 

“I’m sorry, Klark.” 

“You’re sorry?” Klark’s voice shot up and her hand trembled. “You’re sorry that you left, or are you sorry that I killed the Mountain Men?” 

“I’m sorry,” your voice is soft and quiet, so unlike the Heda’s voice, “that you are in pain.” 

“You caused it!” She took a step forward and you took a few back. She pressed forward until your back was pressed to a tree and her gun was pressed to your chest. Your traitorous mind couldn’t help but think back to the last time you had been in this position. 

“I had to save my people. I’m sorry that I had to leave you, but I must save my people. I am their Commander. They will always be my priority. Too many of my people suffered at the hands of Mountain Men. Too many have lost parents and children and friends. And I could not lose anymore. I do not enjoy bloodshed. Few of my people do. And you think of us as savages, as barbarians. But we just want peace.” You inhale sharply as Klark’s gun pushes harder against your chest. “I have always sought peace for my people. I have given up so much for peace. Costia, Gustus, Anya…” You trail off, catching yourself before you can add you. 

A curious expression crosses Klark’s face but she remains silent. 

“Klark, I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“Well, gee, Lexa, how’s that go?” she snarls, “I’m trapped inside my own damn head. Every time I close my eyes I see them, lying there dead. Jasper won’t even speak to me, let alone look at me. Octavia avoids me like the plague and I think she wants to stick me with her damn sword,” you bite your bottom lip, a nervous habit Anya had never truly broken you out of. “Bellamy is broken. Raven has a haunted look in her eye and is constantly spooked. I am constantly in pain. And yet here you are, completely unaffected, back to your savage,” you wince at the word, “version of peace. I want you to feel the pain I feel.” Your head snaps back as her fists collide with your jaw. You can already feel the bruising as you test for any broken bones. 

Klark steps back for a moment and you inhale air greedily. “You don’t feel any of my pain. I had thought you had a heart. But I was wrong. Your heart is twisted and poisoned and you care only for yourself. All of those deaths are on you. They are because you are selfish.” 

“If you need me to take the blame, Klark, I will.” Her gun shakes against your chest. You want to watch her impossibly blue eyes, but the hatred they are filled with cuts into your heart. “If killing me will help you heal, do it. It’s okay.” Klark swung her fist into your cheek again. You spat out some blood. 

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” 

Because I’d rather you hate me.

Because I’d rather you hate me than hate yourself. 

Because I’d rather carry all of your pain than see it in your eyes. 

Because even though it kills me to have you hate me, I’d rather spare you some pain. 

“Because you need this, Klark,” is what you settle on. 

She takes a sharp step back from you. “I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything from you. I never want to see you again.” She turns away and you almost say something to her but your head wins out over your heart. 

As Klark disappears from the clearing, you sink back against the tree. The pain you’ve fought so hard against seeps in. It infects every inch of your body, your heart in particular. 

You want to cry, but you won’t. You refuse to cry. You will not be weak. You will pick yourself up. You will be strong. You will be Heda. 

And if being Heda mean sacrificing your heart, then that is the price you will pay to save your people.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> nontu - father  
> nomon - mother  
> Em/yu gonplei (non) ste oden - his/your fight is (not) over  
> Yu ste yuj/ ste yuj - you are strong/be strong  
> mochof - thank you  
> seken - second  
> Crekru - river people - "cre" from creek  
> Azgeda - Ice Nation  
> kwin - queen  
> hod op - stay  
> jus drein jus daun - blood must have blood  
> Klark kom Skaikru - the Trigedasleng spelling of Klark of the Sky People
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize for any timeline errors. I didn't have the second season on standby, so there could very well be discrepancies. Some how Anya's section really ran away from me. And this actually turned out less angsty than originally planned, so that's good. There may also be some tense issues. I'm not used to writing in second person but it seemed to fit this story. 
> 
> Say hi on tumblr:  
> trickortonks.tumblr.com


End file.
